


Just A Car Crash Away

by klowntatorship



Series: Cyberpunk fics [8]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, End Game Spoilers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Insecurity, M/M, Relic Malfunction, Riding, Sad Ending, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Temperance Ending, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klowntatorship/pseuds/klowntatorship
Summary: “Please,” V whimpers, eyes opening to meet Johnny’s in a needy gaze. As if reading Johnny’s mind, he lets a soft smile overtake his face, the sun bounces off his face in a way that makes him appear ethereal. It makes Johnny’s mouth go dry. “It’s fine, not gunna break me. Don’t even care if you do, s’long as it’s you.”
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Male V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Series: Cyberpunk fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057706
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	1. Memento Mori

**Author's Note:**

> Uuhhh,,, have some soft Johnny and V before I dive headfirst into nothing but pure fucking angst :^)

It’s coming on quicker these days, the dull ache in his bones and the throbbing in his head a tell that his days were numbered lest he figured his shit out. Some days, it’s hard to even drag himself from his bed, the tremor in his hand too strong and the seizures that wracked his body crippling. It was safer to remain at home in a controlled environment than to take any gigs. His phone still blows up with jobs, but he opts to put his phone on silent and ignore them in favor of getting what rest he can.

Today was one of those days, or he felt the potential for it to be at least. It was like the feeling one gets before getting sick; he could feel it looming over him and not quite there yet. Which was nice given what he had come to expect from his own body. Feeling like something terrible was going to happen was marginally better than feeling bad.

He pulls the blanket up tight around his worn body and presses his face into the bed with a low moan of displeasure. Even the drugs couldn’t mask the problem any longer, booze hardly made a scratch, and the window of relief brought on by the beta-blockers grew shorter and shorter as time marched on. There was no escaping this, and his body would only continue to remind him of this.

He was deteriorating; he could feel it in real time as his own brain betrayed him. Could feel his neural pathways withering away and dying, coming back as something new. Something different. Something not for him. There was no grace in dying a slow death. It was both physical and mental agony. But then V also knew there was no grace in dying in a hail of bullets either. 

Watching Jackie die, bleeding out in the back of the Delamain cab had shown him that. Sure, Jackie had a drink named after him. V had made sure of that. But there was no grandeur in it. And every time he drank the Jackie Welles, the burn of the liquor only left bitterness to scratch at his throat, as longing, grief, and sadness clawed at his insides.

Would Mama Welles miss him like she missed Jackie? After all, she had become more of a mom to him than his own fuckin’ mother. The last time he had visited her, she had a look on her face. One of maternal worry, she didn’t vocalize it, but she knew. As if she could see the grim reaper towering over V, casting dark shadows as it waited to strike. The hug she gave him when he left, he felt all of her love poured into it as she murmured a quiet prayer for him. She knew that V would inevitably meet the same fate as her son; it was only a question of when.

He smells the man before he feels the bed shift as if brought forth into the world at the first sign of V’s distress. Johnny presses close, his skin feels cool against V’s heated flesh, and God did it feel refreshing. Made it feel like he wasn’t about to up and cook himself at any second.

“Ya know, I didn’t fuckin’ think I’d end up dying in my bed.” V says, eyes trained on the projections looping over his table. He doesn’t really pay attention to what any of it says, just needs to fix his eyes on something to provide a little stimulation. “Thought I’d go out in some blaze of glory. Or fuckin’ oding and flatlining myself.” 

“Still got time for that yet.” Johnny muses, nosing along the curve of V’s neck affectionately. It was a feeble attempt at cheering V up, and while it really didn’t make a dent in his mood, he did appreciate the sentiment. He had come to appreciate this side of Johnny, to allow himself to turn his brain off from his inevitable demise and have something nice in his life. Someone good for him. “Could still fit you with a nuke and head to Arasaka. Could be some fucked up love story, you and I. Might even be able to talk Rogue into it, for old time sake.”

“I don’t need to be a terrorist for that to ring true you gonk.” V can’t help but snicker at that. He could see the scream sheets now depicting him as some Silverhand wannabe. If only they knew. He skims his hands down to the arm wrapped snug around him, idly tracing patterns into the chilled chrome. “I think Rogue might kill me herself if I suggest a Johnny circa 2023 stunt revival.”

Johnny laughs, lips ghosting over V’s exposed shoulder blade. When he’s met with a faint hum, Johnny continues his journey and drags his lips up to V’s neck, leaving chaste kisses against the goosebumps that rise. 

“There are worse things I guess,” V murmurs, turning over and studying at Johnny with tired eyes. Despite how tired he may look and feel, seeing Johnny’s features display such softness brought him some peace. The sun that filtered in from outside played along Johnny’s face basking the skin in a soft glow. It allowed him to visibly relax like they were in a situation other than the one they were in. “Might be dying but I’m still getting laid.”

“Could be like Elvis, he died on the shitter.” Johnny chuckles, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the corner of V’s lips.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” V asks, nose wrinkling, and Johnny just rolls his eyes. If only they had time, more than what was given to them. Then maybe Johnny could show V all the music from his time so his references wouldn’t be lost on this new generation. Give him some good taste instead of the garbage he consumed whenever they were cruising down the highway. 

“Way before your time, mine too actually. Fuckin’ legend though.” 

“Got it, you’re old.” V teases, a smirk playing at his lips as he leans up to capture Johnny’s wry look in a kiss. The look of annoyance melts away like ice on a hot day as their lips move together. 

Hands slide down V’s side, Johnny’s movements slow and sensual. He’s committing it all to memory, afraid to even acknowledge that this may be one of the last times he does this. He wants to take it all in, sear the image of V into his code so that he never forgets. His fingertips run over scars, ink, and chrome. He thinks about how each imperfection that marred V’s skin made up who the man was. Showcasing his triumphs of survival and close calls all the same.

“Jesus Johnny, you getting soft on me?” V asks with a raised brow, but there’s a softness to it that makes Johnny’s chest lurch. V’s own hands come up to cradle Johnny’s face in his hands, his thumb brushing over the space where his facial hair turns to rough skin. “Might start thinkin’ you love me or something.”

Johnny barks out a laugh, leaning in and kissing V through his smile. It remains soft for a moment, their lips melting together in a carefully crafted rhythm before it begins to deepen. V isn’t entirely sure who made the push for the kiss to shift into something heated, but it doesn’t matter as he’s eagerly parting his lips for Johnny all the same. 

Their hands begin to roam, and V finds stability in Johnny’s shoulders; giving a sharp push, he forces the man to roll onto his back before settling into his lap. V stares down at Johnny, runs his hands along the smooth skin of his torso. He feels the way muscles flex and tense beneath his chipped black fingernails. It felt so real, enough so that if he didn’t know, there would be no doubt that Johnny Silverhand was here in the flesh. He tries not to dwell on the reality of the situation, lets himself float blissfully on cloud nine instead of plummeting. 

“I love you,” V murmurs bending down to press a kiss to where Johnny’s heart was before trailing his lips to work against the crook of his neck. He soaks up the way Johnny sighs, how he shifts his head to give V more space. His smile doesn’t falter when he feels the reverberation of Johnny speaking his love for V as well, a warmth seeping through his body at the soft admission. Teeth nip gently at the flesh, sucking bruises into the skin. While marks didn’t show on V, they did show on Johnny. V always took a great deal of satisfaction in that. He loved seeing the bright reds blossom against the fair skin, watching as they dissolved into soft yellows and greens for only his eyes.

Slowly, V grinds his hips down against Johnny. Feels the way Johnny’s cock twitches at the sudden friction, revels in the noise that Johnny lets out. It was too much and not enough all at once. Every little reaction he got out of Johnny made his chest tighten, and his heart beat faster. He wished this moment never had to end and that they could stay like this together forever. 

“Thinkin too much,” Johnny murmurs, fingertips stroking over V’s hip bones. He flashes a wolfish grin up at V, snapping the band of his briefs, “Wearin’ too much too.”

V just snorts in response, momentarily detaching himself from Johnny to shimmy out of his briefs as Johnny does the same before he settles himself back onto the man’s lap. He drags himself along Johnny’s cock, the slick that drips out of him coating him. The friction and heat have Johnny growling low in his throat, hips rising to press up against V.

All these gentle fleeting touches had Johnny’s head spinning. He wanted nothing more than to be inside of V. Wanted to feel that tight wet heat gripping his cock, ridding any thoughts other than V from his mind. Till there was no room for distress to float between the two of them. He sits up, hungrily catching the younger man’s lips in a kiss. Calloused and metal hands run along V’s body, raising the man in an attempt to get him high enough to slide into him. 

V barks out a laugh, raising his hips a fraction higher so that he was out of reach for what Johnny had been feebly chasing. “All you have to do is say please.” He could see the way the muscles in Johnny’s jaw and neck contract, the pride within himself rearing its head. Typically, it was V who was reduced to a groveling mess, not Johnny. Never Johnny. But V was dying, so he considered this a dying wish to see Johnny beg for him and not the other way around. They both knew that with time, it would be V uttering his pleas between choked out gasps.

Johnny stares at him for a moment, a stern look without any real heat in his eyes before his body loosens. He lifts his head, pressing his lips to V’s ears and fucking  _ whimpers  _ before speaking in a soft exhale, “ _ Please, V _ .”

V damn near loses it then and there; he feels the slick drip out of him as his cunt flutters, a soundless plea to be fucked full. His heart constricts, and nails curl into the soft skin of Johnny’s shoulders. With his other hand, he reaches behind to help guide Johnny’s cock inside of him. His body readily opening up as the blunt head pushed inside of him, filling and stretching him until his body could take no more. It felt perfect; it always felt perfect, like the two bodies were carefully crafted with each other in mind. Their chests rise and fall in tandem, shuddering sighs filling the space between them.

Lips are pressed against the side of V’s head before moving to his jaw, his cheek, and finally his lips as he indulges in all that V has to offer. He doesn’t have much time to think, to really savor it before V moves his hips. The pace V sets is nothing like what they engaged in moments prior. It’s not soft and sweet but ravenous and desperate. 

“Look at you.” Johnny groans, letting himself fall back against the bed with a thud. Even in this position, he couldn’t take his eyes off V. Couldn’t stop the stupid blissed out grin that pulled at his lips as he drank up the fucked out site of V bouncing on his lap. V merely whimpers in response, the noise swallowed up by the sound of skin slapping together as Johnny pulled him down into each thrust of their hips. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

The response he gets to that isn’t one he expects. Rather than one of those lust filled moans or punched out cries, he’s met with something far more grievous.

“ _ Shit _ _ fuck _ ,  _ Johnny stop _ .” V gets out, an abrupt panicked urgency to his voice that carves through the thick lust. Johnny freezes in record time, stilling the movement of his hips as concern flashes over his face. He stares at V with parted lips, chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to clear his mind enough to assess the situation.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asks, but he gets his answer when a cough wracks through V’s body. He can feel the way V’s optics fizzle, how he has to fight to stay corporeal. He can feel how he’s killing V. A sharp ugliness clutches his heart, squeezes till he feels like he might flatline.

The taste of metal is thick in V’s mouth, crimson staining the whites of his teeth. He braces himself against Johnny’s chest, fingers flexing against his chest as he tries to gather himself. His chest rises and falls with stuttering breaths as the pain begins to subside; he doesn’t dare speak till he’s certain the malfunction has died down. Afraid to show the extent of the damage, and bring what Johnny’s doing to him into the world. If they don’t talk about it, it’s okay. Just brush it under the rug and pretend like they were in any other situation. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want to stop?” Johnny asks dumbly. There really wasn’t much else he could offer when he was pinned down under V’s entire weight. He could glitch out and remove himself, but something told Johnny that was not the right move to make in such a time. It would only add insult to injury. 

“Just… give me a second.” V breathes, his voice strained. He takes a moment to collect himself, lets any aftershocks roll through his body before he’s confident that he was in the clear. V is acutely aware of how his thighs burn, muscles spasming as he holds his weight above the man. He looks down at Johnny and grimaces at the concern on the man’s face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine, fuck V, you don’t need to apologize for that.” Johnny rolls his eyes, hands resting on V’s thighs before giving a gentle squeeze. His fingertips trace along the intricate black lines of the ink that spanned over V’s legs, the palm of his hand smoothing when it met solid black spaces. He tries desperately to see V as this intricate work of art and not some dying gonk. Ordinarily, it was an effortless task. V was vibrant and witty, a force to be reckoned with, but all he could see was what he was doing to V in moments like this.

“Can we…” V trails off, he looks down, watches the way Johnny traces his tattoo. There’s a hesitance to his voice like maybe this was the wrong thing to ask. “Keep going? Want to feel good and not like I’m fuckin’ dying.” 

Johnny hums softly, skating his hands up V’s thighs to settle on defined hips. “Course, baby.” He grips tightly at the flesh, gets a solid hold before he flips them so that V is laid flat on his back. “This okay?”

“Yeah.” V sighs, wrapping his arms around Johnny’s shoulders to pull him close. Their lips meet in a slow rhythm, gradually stoking the flames between them back to their full potential after the minor setback of the chip wreaking havoc on V’s body. 

It doesn’t take long to return to where they left off, Johnny’s hips moving in a languid, steady rhythm. He takes his time in working V over, fucking the man with careful precision. Part of him wanted to be careful; he didn’t want to send V’s body into such an overloaded state that he keeled over and died then and there. The other part wanted to take V apart, take all the bad from his mind and replace it with pure ecstasy. 

He works a hand between them, his thumb coming to rub lazy circles over V’s clit. The response is instantaneous, the man’s back bowing as a piercing cry of Johnny’s name rips through the air. It makes Johnny’s lips fall apart in a breathless noise, finds himself wondering how he lucked out in bedding someone like V, in how he got the gonk to  _ love  _ him. Johnny didn’t deserve it. He knew that much, which is probably why every time he got to see V like this, strung out on pleasure, he drank it up greedily like it would be the last time. Like V would suddenly decide that everyone was right in thinking he was an insufferable prick. 

“Feel good?” 

“Yeah, need it harder. Faster.” V’s breaths. His eyes are shut, mouth parted as quick gasps leave his lips. Nails dig into Johnny’s shoulders as if to accentuate his point. 

Johnny hesitates; there’s still a fear of being the cause of another relic malfunction. As much as he wanted to give in, to fuck V like he ordinarily did, fast, sloppy, and  _ obscene _ . To reduce him to nothing but a brainless mess crying out his name, he was afraid to treat V as anything but delicate. It seemed crazy to Johnny as he never gave a damn about something like that before V. The man had fucked him, irreversibly fucked him, and changed him into something else. Something better. Maybe something worthy of V’s love.

“Please,” V whimpers, eyes opening to meet Johnny’s in a needy gaze. As if reading Johnny’s mind, he lets a soft smile overtake his face, the sun bounces off his face in a way that makes him appear ethereal. It makes Johnny’s mouth go dry. “It’s fine, not gunna break me. Don’t even care if you do, s’long as it’s you.”

Johnny drops his head, dark locks curtaining his face. He groans the man’s name low in his throat and lets V’s coaxing chip away at his resolve. He was weak to V, powerless to his demands, and he wanted nothing more than to make the man feel good. Gradually, the movements of his hips pick up in intensity and speed. It felt too good not to give in, especially when he was met with the myriad of V’s moans. 

Metal fingers grip V’s thigh, hiking it up so that Johnny could press in deeper,  _ harder _ . He doesn’t hold back this time, pistoning his hips against V till the man’s clutching at him, desperate for any sense of stability as his mouth opens and closes wordlessly. V is close. Johnny can feel it in the telltale signs of his pitch shifting into a higher breathier tone, the way his cunt grips around Johnny, and his thighs quake beneath Johnny’s bruising grip.

It’s moments later that V is crying out, back arching as nails drag deep lines down Johnny’s back as he reaches his peak. His mind swims, warm waves crashing over him and drowning him. Johnny doesn’t let up, stays with his pace to fuck the man through it while also chasing his own release. It doesn’t take long for Johnny to reach his, spilling inside V with a moan resembling V’s name.

When they come down from the aftershocks, they peel away from each other. Settling into their usual routine of V coming to rest his head on Johnny’s chest, listening for the steady rhythmic heartbeat as Johnny runs his fingers through blue locks. He was going to miss this; wherever this fucked up path was leading, this is what he would miss. 

Of course, he’d miss getting fucked within an inch of his life, Johnny having singlehandedly ruined sex with anyone else for him. But this intimacy, it was different. It had been more than frightening at first, leaving him feeling like he would piss his pants, but now he found himself openly, willingly, and unapologetically craving it. Wanting nothing more than to let his fears dissolve as he buried himself in the safety of Johnny’s arms. 

For once, V felt like he deserved this. Deserved something good in his life. Funny how dying was what made him realize this. 

To see the big bad terrorist rocker boy as nothing but a fuckin’ soft-hearted gonk. It made V’s chest swell with pride, knowing that he was the one to see Johnny like this. A part of him was sad that that was the case, that he couldn’t parade around saying that Johnny was his and he was Johnny. If he did that, he’s sure the concern his friends felt for him would increase tenfold. Rouge would just call him a bloody fool. Maybe if things were different, if things weren’t so damn fucked or V had been born fifty fucking years earlier, things would be better. A permanent bliss rather than this fleeting one that they were caught up in. 


	2. Been Good to Know Ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a look of conviction. A familiar face that he once saw on himself, it had ultimately led to his own demise. Johnny can feel the taste of bile rising in his throat, mixing pungently with the faint taste of copper. He doesn't need to read V's mind to know what he's thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u thought this was going to be a happy story,,,,, im sorry 2 say its not lmao

The air on the rooftop bites bitterly at his skin, the feeling reminiscent of pouring alcohol on an open wound. The world around them seems to slow to a crawl; it makes him believe he has time. That they're confined within this sliver of time, suspended entirely at this moment. For just a moment, everything feels fine—threats of death lurking dissipate, the ache in his bones, and the war in his head stills. The cold air, the comfort Johnny brings, all of it makes him feel alive, even if just for a moment.

But with a swift reminder, reality begins to overcome V once more as violent coughs begin to shred through his body. His vision warps the city's neon lights blearing around him as his optics fight against the parasite gnawing away at him. The sounds of blood splattering across the concrete deafening in his ear. It makes him nauseous. 

"Jesus, V." Johnny speaks the words inaudibly, letting the sounds of the city swallow them up. V straightens up in the dingy plastic chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks up at Johnny's with dejected eyes, his body shaking as he works to stifle another cough. The older man's brows are knitted together, lips pressed thin. There's a look of dread in the man's eyes, a silent question that he's too afraid to ask the answer for. It would be redundant to even ask if V was okay. 

Once the coughing fit subsides **** and his optics were more or less settled, he just eased into the chair. This game they were playing, this false hope they put into the world that things would work out, was exhausting. It sapped all of V's energy from him, left him feeling like a hollow shell of a man. What was the point of it all? What was the point in fighting? 

The serenity that washes over him is unnerving. Johnny can pinpoint the exact moment the look crosses V's face. The look in his eyes made Johnny's stomach twist into dozens of little knots, too small and tightly woven to undo. It's a look of conviction. A familiar face that he once saw on himself, it had ultimately led to his own demise. Johnny can feel the taste of bile rising in his throat, mixing pungently with the faint taste of copper. He doesn't need to read V's mind to know what he's thinking about.

They don't speak, opting to let the city's noises hang heavily in the air. They hear gunshots, the skidding of tires, and wordless chatter float through the air. It's suffocating now. Any peace that V felt before had been swallowed up, digested, and shit out as a final fuck you before them. Eventually, V straightens himself, looking up at Johnny perched on the ledge of the rooftop. 

"We put all this, the pills, everything - to bed," V says decisively, eyes roving over the city's skyline, committing it to memory. As if the memory of Night City will travel beyond with him to where he was about to depart. As much as he loathed the city, it was home to him. Some got out, Lord knows he tried, but the claws of Night City were too deep within him and dragged him back like a sailor to a siren. 

"If we don't try something," Johnny's eyes give him a sharp look, rolling over V's face. There's a critical glint in Johnny's eyes, one that V tries his best to shrug off. It's piercing, judging but knowing. He understands, but he doesn't. There's fear embedded deep within those brown eyes past the judgment. " _ Anything _ were both doomed."

"I know." V's lips press thin, gaze turning down to examine his hands. The paint on his nails was chipped. He didn't remember the last time he had even done them. He couldn't bring himself to lift his eyes, too look Johnny in the eyes. Knowing the moment their eyes locked, he would feel the guilt slither along his spine for whatever he was putting Johnny through with this vicious idea he had brewing.

"Ok. You lost me." Johnny stands from where he sat on the ledge of the building. Moves over to slump down into one of the plastic lawn chairs next to him. Leaning on the arm, he twists to face V. "Realize the shit we've been through for this?"

"I'm just, I'm so fuckin' tired, Johnny." V brings his hands to scrub at his face. He gives a sideways glance to the table, eyes the gun that rests there, feels the relief that nips at his heels at the mere thought, "'M tired of fucking feeling like this, hate feeling myself die." 

He closes his eyes, visualizing how the gun barrel would feel cool against his temple. Feels an almost euphoric rush wash over him as he imagines pulling the trigger. The iron's feeling and weight could soothe in him in ways that he or Johnny couldn't. There were many times that V found himself being the judge, jury, and executioner; he had more than enough blood on his hands. What was one more?

"You're not gunna feel like that much longer, promise baby." The tone he uses is urgent, words coming out in an impetuous tumble. There's a desperation to it, trying so hard to force not only V to believe it but for Johnny himself to as well. "Just, fuck take the pill and let me fix this for us,  _ for you _ ."

It was odd, having someone care for him in this way. Sure he had people who cared about him with varying degrees of intimacy. He had helped Judy with the corpse of her best friend, who had slit her wrists in the fucking tub. He had comforted Judy through it all, even though a part of him resented Evelyn for the role she played in this. She was the damn catalyst to this all, but still, he was there for Judy because Judy was his friend. Panam and River, he had helped both of them patch up their dysfunctional families, and in both cases, he walked away a de facto member of each respective family. Walked away from it, knowing the Aldecados would have his back come hell or high water. Viktor and Misty embraced him with open arms each time he rolled up half-dead, needing to be put back together. V didn't deserve it, he knew that, but he appreciated it all the same.

And then Mama Welles. V had half a mind to call her. To tell her that he loved her, thank her for everything, and apologize. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was easier to go wordlessly, slipping into the shadows. Knew that if he made that call, he wouldn't be able to retain his composure, and he would crumple like a ball of paper.

The point was, many people in V's life cared about him deeply. They all gave a damn about what was happening to him and wanted to help him or at the least prayed for him to walk away somewhat unscathed. But only one person saw through the front he put up. There was only one man who could see past the hardened exterior that V had built for others, see him for what he truly was. Catching glimpses of the softness that lay buried deep within the space between V's ribs. No matter what, the man was there by his side, making sure that he saw things through to the end. 

And, of course, that man was Johnny Silverhand, a relic of the past. A monument to corporate rebellion. A man everyone who spent more than five minutes with hated. The level of intimacy between them, the sheer unadulterated level of understanding was profound. Which was chiefly in part due to the fact he was held prisoner within V's mind. But that didn't matter. What they had was real. Or maybe it wasn't real, and just the lines where V ended and Johnny began starting to blur. Whatever it was, V had come to enjoy it. It could be seen as either romantic or horribly self destructive and narcissistic, depends on who you asked.

Regardless of what it was, it was pleasant having someone who cared for him like Johnny did. Who worried about him and loved him. The thought of losing that scared V. For the first time in his life, he felt seen and understood. He wasn't just another street rat from Heywood or just another merc.

"Hey, V." Johnny waved his hand in front of the man's face, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. They didn't have the time for V to just lose himself in his thoughts anymore. Time was slipping through their fingers as they spoke. "You still with me?"

"Sorry," V apologizes, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He pulls one out, lights it, and takes a long drag. The smell of tobacco wafts through the air, a chemical smell that reminded him of death. He had hated it at first, but it had since come to be a bonding ritual with Johnny. "Just, I don't know, thinking?" 

"Look, fuck V, if this is really what you want okay." Johnny says, chewing at his lip as he speaks. The words are heavy on his tongue, leaving unwillingly. He watches the way V smokes with a far off look in his eyes and finds that familiar hatred simmering in his veins. 

And maybe this would be better, Johnny thinks. Maybe putting this to rest would prove to be the most desirable option. At least they knew what would happen, a slug to the head, and the world would go dark. There would be nothing more for them here, and all the problems of the past would dissipate. He can feel himself understanding V more, understands the bliss in the idea. It was an option that provided certainty in a sea of possibilities littered with uncertainty. There would be no room for disappointment or a feeble construction of hope. It was the least bloody option, the one with the smallest chance for their hearts fragmenting into a million little pieces or those around them, their friends, losing their lives.

"Is it what you want?" V asks quietly, turning to look at Johnny with a stern gaze. 

"Not about what I want." Johnny sighs, and V can tell that Johnny has some objections on the matter. Once upon a time, V is sure Johnny would be holding him in a chokehold, pushing pills down his throat to get him to comply. But now, Johnny, albeit begrudgingly, has accepted what V has laid out before him. "Your body, your choice."

His agreeableness, it's annoying, really. Only drives the point home further that this situation was dire and that things were different. 

"Answer the fuckin' question, Silverhand." V's eyes narrow, teeth gritting till he's sure he can hear a soft crack of objection. The anger is misplaced. He's sure, but he was facing his own death. It was hard to keep his emotions in check at such a time. He presses the remnants of the cigarette into the arm of the chair, the dingy white turning dark with ash before he flicks the butt off into the distance.

Johnny stays silent, lets himself sink into a state of contemplation. He leans forward, elbows digging into his knees as he stares down at the chipped and cracked concrete of the roof. He wonders if he should fight back or go along with V's idea that while enticing was a God awful one. It was pathetic and not the V he had grown accustomed to. In the number of times Johnny had seen V stare death in the eyes, he never saw the man reach out. Typically, V would spit in the face of death and crawl back to the world of the living. He supposes you could only kick a dog so many times before he just didn't get back up. V had just finally reached the breaking point.

"No. I want you to fuckin' fight." Johnny finally says, turning away to look at the city again. His leg bounces restlessly, the sound of his heel hitting the ground echoing softly around them. "We've come so fuckin' far Vanna, too fuckin' far to just end it like this."

"Okay." V breathes; he feels uneasy. Confused and afraid. There's no relief to this option, just a vast unknown that sets V on edge. He could walk away and gain everything, or he could just as easily lose everything. There was no way to tell. It was far more complicated than simply putting a bullet in his skull. It made V's blood run cold. "You're up Johnny. I trust you."

V's hands tremble as he reaches towards the table, grabbing the pseudoendotrizine. He holds it warily; this little pill held the fate of V's future in it. They could still back out. There was still time to go back on this and reach for the gun. Johnny wouldn't stop him, but yet, the way Johnny watches him with that dismal gaze of his holds him back. Makes him feel horrid for even insinuating ending it like that.

"Take the wheel," V exhales in defeat before he pops the pill. He swallows it, feeling the tacky coating cling to his throat as it fights to go down. "Just go easy on us, yeah?"

"I love you." Johnny murmurs. Getting to his feet, he moves to stand in front of V. He stares down at the man, looking at him with concern that makes V feel fucking sick. The man leans down, pressing a brief chaste kiss to V's chapped lips, not bothering to pull away to speak, "I'll get us through this, you'll see." The words paired with the kiss felt like the nails being hammered into his coffin. The words aren't comforting; they don't taste soft and sweet against his lips. All he can taste is the dread that wraps around each syllable.

Still, he forces himself to smile. His lips curve upwards, but there's no crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he whispers a soft "I love you too."

Johnny extends his hands, and V takes it, clasping it tightly. Feels the warmth of Johnny's skin against his own. He thinks back to the days they shared tangled up in bed, the feeling of those very hands running over his body. How they felt him up with such reverence. This was nothing like those times.

"See you on the other side." Is the last thing he hears before Johnny yanks him to his feet before the edges of his vision begin to go cloudy, and he's enveloped in darkness.


	3. As the World Caves In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m a fucking dead man walking.”
> 
> “Welcome to the club,” Johnny jokes humorlessly. V laughs softly, bitterly at the ironic situation he found himself in.

When he awakes, he’s in a place that is so familiar yet so alien. It was different from the other times that he had visited Alt. This time, he was here because they had won. Or at the very least achieved their end goal. Winning wasn’t precisely the right way to embody the feelings V had towards the situation.

There was no winning here; every option that he was given would be shit. Either he lived, lost the man he was pathetically in love with, or died, and Johnny lost the man he was equally as pathetically in love with. 

V stares off into the great beyond, takes in the absolute nothingness that stares back at him. It was nothing like Night City, a living, breathing organism. It was cold and listless. It was nothing but streams of data that left him feeling just as vacant.

“Looks like I was right again. Told ya I’d handle it.” Johnny places his hand on V’s shoulder as V spins around to face him. There’s a solemn look in the man’s eyes, one that makes Johnny’s chest constrict. He can see the gears turning in V’s head, can see the way he’s analyzing a situation so unbelievably fucked and trying to make heads or tails of it all.

Finally, V settles on what to say, opening his mouth to speak, “Good to see you too, Johnny.” He just gets the words out before Johnny is enveloping him in a crushing hug that nearly knocks the wind from him. It’s warm and stable, and this time, it does bring him comfort. Quells the fears that exploded within himself because they’re here,  _ together  _ and not as one but two separate individuals.

“You see any of what went down?” Johnny asks, gradually loosening his grip around V so that he can get a good look at the man before him. His hazel eyes are heavy and dull, his face looking gaunt in a way Johnny hadn’t really noticed before. It was here at the finish line that he sees the toll all of this had taken on V’s body.

“No, but that’s probably for the best.” V shrugs his shoulders, shaking himself from Johnny’s grip and making his way over to the booth. He slots himself into the seat, feels it creak beneath his weight. Or maybe it doesn’t. His mind might have been filling in the gaps of what should’ve been. He doesn’t pretend to understand this space.

“Rogue’s dead. Smasher was there.” Johnny mumbles softly as he follows suit. He takes the seat across from V, lets himself settle his tired body into the booth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shouldn’t be. Died for me, not for you.” Johnny laments and shakes his head. Guilt seeps through his body, working its way through his veins like thick sludge clogging the pipes. He can’t help but wonder if V had been right, if he had done it, if V had flatlined himself, Rogue would still be here. She would still be able to go home and be a  _ mother _ . She deserved life more than Johnny ever did. So did Alt, and so did Vanna.

“Is my body still in one piece?” V asks, jostling Johnny from his thoughts

“Parked it in Arasaka Tower’s basement, plugged it into the network.” 

“Heh, figured as much. Your output’s been torchin’ my brain with Soulkiller for a good while now.”

“You’ll be alright. I mean look, you made it this far.” There’s a glimmer of faith in the way he speaks, like maybe,  _ just maybe _ , this would all pay off. That there would be some good to come of this fucked up mess.

They talk idly for some time like they did before all of this. Johnny’s feet are propped up on the table, and V’s resting his head against the palm of his hand. It feels too casual for the situation they’re in. Neither of them is entirely sure how long it had been. Time seemed to be a concept that didn’t exist within this data based purgatory. And if it did exist, V and Johnny were clueless to how much or how little had passed. There’s tension in the air between them, a question of ‘what next’ swinging over them. Neither wants to ask, too scared to peer behind the curtain and get on with what would end in one of their deaths. It was safer here, uncomfortable but safer in this timeless purgatory. 

Yet all things come to an end, Alt’s voice cuts through their chatter. The sound of her voice is haunting, rattling around in their skulls like the sharp stings of a migraine. It makes gooseflesh rise along their skin.

“I made a mistake in excluding the body as a factor. DNA reconfiguration has progressed too far. Added to the aggressive, invasive medications, the body’s immune system, it’s attacking its own neurons… “Her voice was collected, presenting such news in such a nonchalant way that made Johnny’s see red. 

“Spit it out! In human terms!” Johnny can’t help but scream, the emotions from within bubbling up violent from within and spilling out past his lips. Fists clench at his sides as he goes to jump up from his seat, hips knocking against the table.

“V will die independent of what I do. This is inevitable. This is imminent.” She continues as if blissfully ignorant of the emotional implications of her words. It was likely that she was aware, but time beyond the Blackwall, years spent as a clump of ones and zeros, had drained any humanity from her. Was this what V was destined to become?

“For fuck sake Alt, you had one job and you fucked it up?!” His voice tremors, words cracking with anger as he glares up at Alt.

“I could not know the situation before conducting a thorough and precise diagnosis.” So it really didn’t matter. Talking with Alt had just made feelings of regret bubble within, scraping at his ribcage. He should’ve eaten lead, should’ve gone with what he knew. He had already taken a bullet to the head and become intimately acquainted with the blackness of death. He should have taken the comfortable option instead of delving into uncertainty. He shouldn’t have let Johnny’s words talk him out of what he had wanted. Love was a dangerous, merciless fucking thing. 

“You promised this poor little shit a new life and you lied! You fuckin’ lied!”

“Johnny, shut it for two seconds, will ya? Gotta think!” V scrubs at his face, nails digging in, trying to think of a way out of this. Any fucking way that didn’t end in his demise, a way that wouldn’t serve as a reminder that even without Johnny, he was destined to lose.

“Alt, c’mon there’s gotta be a way outta this.” The anger in Johnny’s voice fizzles out into something close to defeat, a weight to his tone that just breaks V’s heart. V dares a glance over at the man, he can’t see behind those damn glasses, but he can see the muscles shift and tighten as he clenches his jaw. He’s glad he can’t see the look in those eyes.

“The biochip has irreversibly changed the host organism. It no longer belongs to V, who is an intruder there. The situation is different for you.” Alt pauses for a moment as if reflecting on her next words. It makes her seem almost human. “All changes were made to accommodate you.” 

Wordlessly, V gets to his feet and walks away. He can still hear Alt prattling on as if she hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb on the duo. The words drift nonsensically over V’s head, he hears Johnny and Alt bicker, but they go in one ear and out the other. They don’t mean anything; nothing Alt says will change anything, and nothing Johnny does will comfort him. There was no more time left; any time they had was gone. It was fucking pointless. 

“Alt, give us a minute.” 

“I’m going to fuckin’ die,” V murmurs. He gnaws at his bottom lip as he stares off into space. There’s no peace within himself like when he had accepted his death before. Or any of the other times he thought he was going to die. Instead, there’s nothing but the claws of fear ripping through his body without a shred of remorse. “I’m a fucking dead man walking.”

“Welcome to the club,” Johnny jokes humorlessly. V laughs softly, bitterly at the ironic situation he found himself in. Johnny tucks the mirrored glasses into the collar of his tanktop before turning to look V. “Look, V, fuck I’m so sorry. This,” Johnny gestures vaguely around them, “Shouldn’t have fuckin’ happened. None of this.”

“Not your fault, I’m the gonk who thought it’d be a nova idea to stick you in my head.” V sighs, shaking his head. He moves to take a seat on the edge of the platform, letting his legs dangle off the ledge. He wonders briefly what would happen should he jump over the ledge. Would that be it? Would he be swallowed up into whatever Alt was? “You tried to save me, actually gave a fuckin’ damn what happened. More than I can say about most people in my life.” 

“So what’s next?” Johnny asks as he takes a seat next to V. Almost instantly, V is leaning into his side, and just as fast, Johnny lifts his arm and wraps it around the younger man’s shoulder to hold him close. 

“Can we just not talk about it for a minute?” V whispers, seemingly content when Johnny just nods in agreement. They settle in deathly silence; the weight of the absence of words or ambient noise was bone crushing. But V needed to think, needed to make a fucking decision on what to do. There wasn’t a right or wrong answer here. Either option amounted to equal amounts of suffering on both ends. 

He feels that telltale ravenous gnawing begin to chew at his insides and feels his skin crawl as it always did when he was yearning for a fix. It always boiled down to this in moments of high stress. He always figured if he wasn’t flatlined in cold blood, that’d be the way he’d go. Killed by his own vices. At least he could go while being trapped in a state of bliss, not trapped in a fucked up situation that he couldn’t escape. 

V sighs, lets all the air leave his lungs till there is nothing left. He can feel just how tired he is. Thinks it’s kind of cruel that even as an engram, there’s a dull ache that permeates through his body. His eyes fall shut as he lets himself fall into the arms of defeat, knows there isn’t any use in fighting it any longer. It will only make the pain worse, and he just wanted to call it quits.

“I want you to take my body.” V finally says, there’s sudden unwavering confidence in his tone. Johnny’s body tensed, V could feel the objections already bubbling in the man’s throat, but before Johnny could interject, he speaks again, “I’m fuckin’ dying Johnny. No matter what fuckin’ way you spin it, I’m going to die. I can die here, on my own terms or I can die a slow painful fuckin’ death blitzed outta my mind. I choose here and now.” 

Johnny is silent. Any objections he may have had have shriveled up and died on the tip of his tongue. The words leave a sour aftertaste to burn in his mouth. He can’t think of what to say, can’t think of any way to talk V out of this, or even accept the answer himself. He swallows the lump that had begun to form in his throat, squeezes V by the shoulder, and opens his mouth to speak, “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” V nods his head, turning to look at Johnny. His lips spread into a melancholic smile. There’s a profound sadness that paints his features—the look of a man who was ready to plunge himself headfirst into death’s embrace. The look alone made Johnny’s chest constrict, shoving him into abject sorrow and grief for what was to come. “I want to die with some fuckin’ dignity.”

“Okay.” Johnny lets out a sharp exhale. He brings the hand that wasn’t wrapped around V to cup the man’s cheek in his hand. He feels the warmth that radiates from his cheek, the way his muscles are taut as he smiles that sad fucking smile. He could feel his heart cracking, shattering into pieces that would be beyond repair. Idly, he strokes his thumb over the skin before leaning in and pressing against V’s lips in a gentle kiss. 

“I love you, Vana.” His words are nothing more than a soft whisper; he can’t bring himself to speak louder. Knows that if he tried, they too would crack and break. 

“I love you too, Johnny.”


End file.
